When the Autumn Moon is Bright
by Stand In Girl
Summary: In the aftermath of Caroline's kidnap and torture, she has to cope with memory gaps, a thirst for revenge and a very contrite—and possessive—Tyler Lockwood. T/C, with some T/C/M triangle thrown in for extra fun.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **When the Autumn Moon is Bright

**Rating: **T for adult content and language

**Summary: **In the aftermath of Caroline's kidnap and torture, she has to cope with memory gaps, a thirst for revenge and a very contrite—and _possessive—_Tyler Lockwood.

**Pairing: **Tyler/Caroline, with a bit of the Tyler/Caroline/Matt triangle thrown in for fun.

**Setting**: Set after _Crying Wolf_, but Tyler never left or had his heart-to-heart with Matt.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned them, Caroline and Tyler would be acting out their romance for me on a personal stage somewhere.

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><p>"<em>A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night<br>May still become a wolf when the Autumn moon is bright."_  
>– <em>Howl<em>, Florence and the Machine

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 1<span>**

The only pro to getting shot in the head is that the bullet usually kills you. There's no pain or if there is, it lasts a split second and then you're gone, gone even before the bullet has finished tearing through the spongy grey matter that builds up to your thoughts, your memories, your personality and your whole life.

The con to being a vampire is that, though the bullet rips through the spongy (dead?) grey matter that builds up to your thoughts and memories and personality, you don't die. You feel every second of the bullet's journey through your skull, and you feel it in full detail. Adept senses catch the sound of soft, damp tissue ripping apart; you can smell the way blood and brain matter singe as the red-hot missile drills a hole straight through. There's unconsciousness, but it's small, faint like a micro nap that doesn't do anything but make you more tired than you were, and then you're awake again before your body has even expelled the foreign enemy lodged inside your temple.

Caroline thinks she can still feel it there, sometimes. Still buried inches below her scalp. When her hair parts strangely, she panics and feels around for holes that gather and bubble like anthills. She was shot in other places too—in her chest, so, so close to her heart—but nothing's so bad as the bullet to her head.

She's forgotten things. She hasn't told anyone, because Elena would panic and Stefan would brood and Damon wouldn't care, but her memory has gaps now, like pages torn out of beat-up library books. They're little things, mostly, but things she would never forget before, like Matt's birthday or Elena's mother's maiden name. Caroline collects facts like pennies, always has; imagines the information could add up to something important one day, something worth the space it takes up.

She knows she heals—she'll always heal. There are maybe three injuries that she can't come back from, but other than those, she will never meet a wound that won't reseal itself, muscles and skin stitching back together like the time she ripped a hole in her favorite doll and her mother sewed it up. That's Caroline, the ever-repairing doll. But she thinks there are things—memories, emotions, _things_—that can't be grown back. If her mind is like a computer, then the computer can still function and operate once the hard-drive is wiped clean. Her body can replace the missing parts of her brain, but they're blank, empty like the eyes of a corpse.

"Caroline."

Her muscles tense and stutter, jolting her out of her reverie. It takes her a moment, only a moment, to realize who's standing next to her, and she bites back a noise of disgust. "I thought I made myself pretty clear, Tyler."

"Caroline, just let me—"

She can't take this. It's all piling up on her like dirt on a fresh grave, and she knows she's supposed to be strong but right now all she feels is weak and lost. She surges to her feet and grabs his wrists, forcing him backwards before he can finish whatever explanation he's going to heap on her. "Stop it, okay! Just—God, just leave me alone."

She steps by him, abandoning her table at The Grill and walking quickly to the exit. He catches her arm, pulls her back, and the force of it takes her by surprise. She's become accustomed to the weakness of humans, to limiting herself and hiding her unreasonable strength. Alarmed, she reverses his hold and twists his arm behind his back, the point of her chin digging into his neck.

"I'm not in the mood," she whispers, cool and deadly, grinding his arm harder before she lets him go.

He whips around so fast it's astounding, and she has to wonder if he's not a vampire too, both mixed together in one soul. She imagines that would be a terrifying thing to behold. There's caged fury in his eyes and she can tell he's itching to prove himself to her—prove that he's strong enough to stay even when she and all her vampire strength want him to go.

He fights it back with a deep gust of oxygen and says, "You can do the bitchy vampire thing all you want, but I'm not leaving until you hear me out."

"You think I can't make you?" She asks, stepping closer, so that their noses are almost touching. She imagines that the fire in his eyes is reflected back in hers, and it burns there between them, flames licking out of control.

"Can you take the foreplay somewhere else?"

Caroline jerks around, nearly smacking into Tyler's face because they're so close, and her expression falls when she realizes it's Matt. He's staring at them like they ripped his heart out and took turns batting it across the floor.

"Matt, it's not—"

"_Shut up_, Caroline," Matt says, slamming a tray of dirty dishes onto the table and nearly breaking them.

"Hey, man, don't talk to her like that," Tyler warns, and Caroline spares him a look of disbelief. He _just_ called her a bitch.

"Oh, you're defending her now?" Matt demands, running a cloth over Caroline's vacated table so hard he might wear a groove in the old wood. "So it's official? She's your girlfriend?"

"Matt, would you _stop_?" Caroline asks, the fire melting to ember and ash inside of her until all she feels is exhausted. "We're not lying to you! There is nothing—" She breaks off, swallows. _Finish it, Caroline_. But she doesn't.

"What _is_ it with you people?" Matt demands, giving up his menial tasks now, throwing the rag down and stomping closer to them. "Why is everyone always so determined to lie! I've seen you together, Caroline! At school, and then when I came to talk to you and he was at your _house_—"

"What?" Caroline asks, bewildered, trying to recall the occasion he means.

Matt only looks angrier, like he thinks she's denying it. He teeters for a moment, his face red like he might start screaming or pummeling his fists into Tyler's face—a feat that would end poorly for Matt—and then he shakes his head and picks up his tray. She opens her mouth as he walks away, but then she just shuts it again. A helpless sound flutters in her throat like a bird.

"You shouldn't have denied it," Tyler says, and she looks at him again. "He knows I was with you that night."

"Which night?" she demands.

He pauses, staring at her like he's trying to work out what game she's playing. "Are you serious? The night I broke in and found out what you were—when you told me I couldn't tell anyone, that we'd both die if I did."

She's afraid, and she knows he can see it playing out like a movie on her face. Her skin tautens and her eyes go wide and round, contrasting with her mouth, which narrows to a pursed line. She knows Tyler knows about her—that fact's imbedded too deeply in her to eradicate—but she realizes now that she doesn't know exactly _when_ she told him. Or how.

"You don't remember."

She puts a hand to her head, her fingers digging into her scalp. She pulls and strands of her hair come out; she doesn't even feel it. Her fingers keep digging, looking for holes, for marks of her loss. "I haven't—ever since they shot—" A sob claws at her throat, turning it rough and raw, and she has to quit talking or she'll start crying and never stop.

He grabs her hands, making sure to twist the straw locks out of her fingers before he pulls them away from her scalp. She can feel Matt watching and she should yank herself away, but she can't do anything but drown in what she's lost. She thought it was just little things, facts that a less detail-oriented person would have forgotten. How she realizes it's whole hours, days—maybe years.

And the worst of it is, she'll never know. No one can walk step-by-step through her life with her and examine the pieces she's missing. It's a gaping loss, made all the more palpable by not knowing the totality of what that loss entails.

"Maybe it'll come back," Tyler says, sounding a little desperate, and the emotion echoes like a bell in her ears. "_Caroline_, maybe they'll come back."

"Or maybe they won't," she says, finally meeting his gaze again. She knows how frightened and small she seems right now, the cliché deer catching the still eyes of the hunter.

It's an illusion though, one that will shatter once she's had time to recover. She could kill him easily and almost without thought, except she's starting to believe she's a little in love with him. And she knows he feels varying degrees of the same thing, because even if she's forgotten parts of their time together, she hasn't forgotten the way he kissed her.

She could kill him, and he could kill her right back, except neither of them would ever want that.

"I have to go," she says, pulling out of his hands. He reaches again, fingers bunching the sleeves of her coat as he grabs hold of her arms. She's grown tired of this constant game of restraint, but she knows bullying him just makes him more determined.

"Don't," Tyler says, low and pleading. "Caroline, please, just let me help you. Let me fix what I've done."

"Help me how?" she demands, a spark of anger igniting in her and chasing away some of the cold. "It's _done_, Tyler. Jules' lapdog shot—" she stops, almost chokes on the words but forces herself to continue. "He _shot_ me in the head and now my brain's all grown back, except things are missing. There's no way you can help with that."

"You're freaked out," Tyler persists, hands curling tighter around her like he can force her to listen that way. "And if I know you, you haven't told anyone else. I don't want you to be alone with this."

And there it is again. The perpetual reason for why they crash together; because one or the other is always alone otherwise. She doesn't know when this happened, when she and Tyler became so sequestered from their own lives that no one else can share their burdens.

"You should let go," Caroline says, instead of anything deep and meaningful, because she's still so, _so_ angry with him. "Matt is watching—"

"So? He wants us to stop lying."

"I wasn't trying to lie!" Caroline says, and her face breaks for a second, twisting into the sob that's still caged in her throat. "I didn't remember—"

"I don't mean that," Tyler says, and he releases one of her arms to reach up and run his fingers over the line of her jaw. "We should stop _lying_, Caroline."

She goes still and cold like the corpse she's supposed to be. They've never discussed this, not really; they've only brushed on reasons why they shouldn't. But she's positive they've never really admitted what's going on between them, aside from that wonderful, awful kiss.

"No," she says, and his face cracks at her quiet, heartfelt denial. "No, Tyler. We're friends—we _were_ friends until you turned your back on me for that stupid werebitch. We were never anything else, and now we're not even that."

His eyes flash and for just a moment, she sees his pupils thin and narrow until they're vertical slits swimming in brown. Fascination and a heavier emotion she can't name send ice through her veins, freezing her, and he takes the opportunity to yank her forward.

His lips crash down on hers, tough, demanding, looking to offer proof. She gets swept up in it, in the raging storm that rushes up to drown her. For one blissful moment, she's not a vampire and he's not a werewolf and she isn't Caroline Forbes and he isn't Tyler Lockwood, and she lets herself take what she _knows_ is supposed to be hers.

A plate of dishes crashes to the floor, and the clatter jolts them apart. It only takes her a moment to remember herself and her situation. Then she looks for Matt.

She only catches a glimpse of him as he disappears behind the swinging doors of The Grill's kitchen. The contents of his tray litter the floor in angry, broken shards.

She steps forward without thinking, a reflex action rising from her desire to keep everyone happy and everything the way it was. She's not happy anymore, but maybe if she can just _stop_ things from changing, she'll find it there again in the stillness.

Tyler catches her, his grip even harder than before, almost bruising around her forearm except it takes a lot more to bruise Caroline Forbes.

"Let go of me!" She says harshly, yanking out of his grip and resisting the urge to shove him. She can feel eyes on her and she knows they're making a scene. Her voice echoes in the sudden quiet that always accompanies the breaking of glass inside a restaurant.

Tyler notices and lowers his voice. "Just leave him, Caroline. It's better this way anyway—you said it yourself."

"No, it's not better like—like _this_," she says, and she can feel the pressure building under her eyes again. She can't believe how much she's cried lately, can't help feeling a little ashamed of it. "It's all wrong. God, just leave me alone!"

She yanks out of his grip but reaches for him, ready to strangle him or throw him down or something to vent her frustration, but then she stops and huffs an angry breath through her nose. They stare at each other, and the world is still for that one moment, until she turns on her heel and marches away. This time, he doesn't follow.

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><p><em>AN: Reviews are to me what spinach is to Popeye. _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for all the responses! I appreciate them greatly._

**Chapter 2**

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><p>"<em>If you could only see the beast you've made of me,<br>I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free."_

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><p>Tyler breathes slowly, watching the rigid set of her gate as she strides to the door. Then she disappears into the night—her home, the only place she's really supposed to be—and he feels like he's lost her.<p>

He raises a hand to his eyes, fingers massaging to ease the ache that spreads from his temple. He shouldn't have kissed her. He knows it, feels it deep in his gut that it was exactly the wrong thing to do, but he couldn't help himself. Instinct came surging up and all he could think was that he had to claim her, had to make it clear to his rival waiting in the wings with a tray of dirty dishes that she was _his_.

What a stupid, macho display. It's a move that would never work with Caroline, and he knows it—so why didn't he _think_ about that? Why doesn't he ever think about anything? No, he just barrels in, teeth bared like the wolf he is, shredding through things until all that's left are tattered seams. And can he really blame the impulsiveness and misogynistic possessiveness all on the beast howling at the center of his chest? He finds it more likely that he would've been this way anyway, even if he had never dabbled in death and activated the cursed lying dormant inside his family line.

His fingers curl and the urge to hit something jitters up and down his arms. He breathes deeply again, trying to dispel the uncomfortable anger and bitterness. He _has_ to learn to control this if he wants to have any shot at all with Caroline.

He wants to help her. It burns inside of his chest, this desire to just _be_ _there_ for her—probably an overcompensation for when he almost let her die. That night haunts his waking thoughts and his dreams, his mind torturing him with all the things he should have done. He shouldn't have hesitated when she asked him to get her out of that cage. He should have rushed forward and knocked the gun away from Jules, grabbed Caroline and pushed her behind him. He should have fought, done _something_. She quite literally held his hand (and his head, and his whole aching body) while he went through the most difficult thing in his life. And he couldn't even find it in himself to save her from a mess she fell into because of him.

And she's still suffering from that night, like it left a wound that won't heal. How can she forget what happened and move on it it's still affecting her this much? She needs something—she needs _someone_—to get her through this. And maybe if that person is him, she'll finally forgive him for so thoroughly letting her down.

Sighing, fists still clenched tight, Tyler follows her footsteps and walks out into the night. His vision is a little sharper now—though not nearly so defined as it is when he's days from transforming—but the dark is still foreign to him, the sky and ground bleeding together in a vast, empty wasteland. Wolf or not, he's mostly human and he's not made for the dark, not like she is.

He wonders what it's like to be her. He wonders how it would feel to look into the night and see _everything_—to be so aware of the world that sunlight isn't even necessary. He sure as hell knows what it's like to be _him_—to feel itchy and restless until his body grows teeth and claws and pulls at chains all night long. He tends to think she got the better end of the deal.

Then again, he's alive. His heart is beating in his chest—still too fast, like a nervous drummer who's just a little off-time. His lungs pull in oxygen because his body needs it and not because it's a useless leftover impulse, like when some of his friends turned 21 and still got nervous every time they were drunk and heard sirens. He spends one night being an animal, and then the rest of the time he's more or less human.

But Caroline, she's always dead. He hasn't thought about that much and he doesn't really want to. And besides a stake, the only thing that can kill her—_really_ kill her—is him. How is that even possible?

"Hey!"

Tyler raises his eyes skyward, counting to ten and praying for patience he knows he doesn't have. _Just don't let me beat the shit out of him…_

"Matt," he acknowledges, turning toward his one-time best friend. The bus boy is breathing heavily, his face red and blotchy like he's been running.

"What the hell was that in there?"

"Look," Tyler starts, resisting the urge to link his hands together and meditate before starting this conversation. "I'm sorry, man. I shouldn't have done that—it was a bad call."

"You think?" Matt demands. He strides toward Tyler, gripping him by the lapels and shaking him. Tyler shoves Matt off, taking another calming breath. He finds it funny that even though he's supposed to be the violent, impulsive one, Matt's always making the first move.

"What do you want me to say?" Tyler demands, even though he doesn't want to say anything. He really just wants to pummel his fist into Matt's face.

"Why don't you admit you're in love with my girlfriend?" Matt spits, his face twisted up in rage.

Tyler knows he should feel guilty, and there's a piece of him that does. But his life is so far gone from Matt's now that he can't even remember what it feels like to be Matt's best friend. Turning into a wolf forced him into an entirely different universe, and Matt doesn't belong there. But Caroline does—she's the only thing that makes any sense in the shit-storm that is his life. And he'll be _damned_ (more than he already is) if he's going to lose her.

"_Ex_-girlfriend," Tyler corrects, stretching the first syllable between his teeth. "I'm in love with your ex-girlfriend. And I'm sorry, but it doesn't change anything." _She's mine. _

Matt looks like he has no trouble filling in the spots Tyler left blank. He stays completely still for a moment, and then he pulls his fist back and punches Tyler in the jaw.

Tyler reels away, his knees bending and his back arching at the attack, which should have been expected but somehow wasn't. His vision goes hazy at the edges and he bares his teeth—but then he pulls himself back.

"Matt, you really don't want to do this," Tyler warns, and he thinks he should start taking Lamaze classes for all the deep, steady breathing he's been doing lately. His frustration batters into him from all sides, but he doesn't want to hurt Matt—not really. He _doesn't_.

"Oh, I think I do," Matt says, lifting his fist again for the next attack. But Tyler's aware now, filled with the complete focus that comes so easily to him because of his werewolf nature, and he's on Matt before the next punch can land. He catches the other man by the stomach and forces him to the ground; Matt gurgles a protest but can't manage to fight Tyler off. Leveraging one arm across Matt's shoulders, Tyler pulls back with the other and punches Matt in the face. He goes in for another when a voice cracks through the air.

"Tyler!"

Tyler freezes with his knuckles an inch from Matt's already swelling jaw. He stares for a minute, transfixed, and then he scrambles to his feet and looks around.

Jules is striding toward him, her expression hard and stern. "You need to come with me."

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She hesitates, staring at Matt's heaped form on the pavement. "I'll explain everything, but not here."

"What the _hell_ are you doing here, Jules?" She reaches for his arm, but he rips out of her grasp, protesting, "If you think I'm just going to go with you after what you did—"

"Not here!" she clips out, and Tyler looks at Matt again. The other man has pulled himself off of the ground, and he's staring at Jules like he's coming to all the wrong conclusions.

"What the hell is _this_?" Matt demands, his voice heavy with disgust. "Not only are you going to steal my girlfriend, but you're also going to two-time her? If you _think_ I'm going to let you treat Caroline the way you treated Vicky—"

"I'm not—!" Tyler begins, affronted by the accusation, but Jules interrupts.

"Caroline? You're still seeing Caroline?"

"God, this is just perfect," Matt says, throwing his hands up like he wants to toss this whole situation in the garbage. At this point, Tyler wouldn't mind doing that either. "You know what? Have fun. But neither of you come crawling back to me when this all blows up in your faces. I'm _done_ with you."

Matt turns away and Tyler makes a convulsive move toward him, but Jules catches his arm.

"Just let him go," she says, and for once, he knows she's right.

"Why are you here?" he asks her again, his eyes hard as he looks at her.

She pauses for a minute and then says, "Come on. I want to show you something."

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><p>Caroline stands frozen in the darkness. She's not even that far away, tucked into a pitch-black corner of the ally, but werewolves must have different eyes than vampires. She supposes her species has adapted to their imprisonment in the night. That's why she can see Tyler and Jules, but they don't even stop to wonder if they should be looking for her.<p>

She stares at the back of Jules' head as the older werewolf tugs Tyler away, and part of Caroline wants to shout out in warning. Part of her wants to kick and scream, because she can feel it in her gut that he's not safe with Jules.

But he is. She knows that, because all Jules ever wanted was Tyler. That, and vengeance against those who had a hand in Mason's death.

She tilts her head in the opposite direction and watches Matt stumble back into The Grill, his broken heart outlined in his limp gate. She wants to call out to him, too, but Tyler and Matt's fight still echoes in her super-human ears, filling her with all kinds of information she doesn't want to know (_I'm in love with your ex-girlfriend). _She was about to step in, to stop their truly idiotic display of testosterone, but the weepy coward inside of her held back once she heard those words.

They had frozen her like a stake to the chest. Even when Tyler and Matt started pounding away at each other, she felt like the truth was still lodged there, cutting her in half and rendering her useless.

Then Jules broke the scrabbling boys apart and now Caroline isn't thinking of Tyler or Matt. Now she's just thinking of Jules—of her cruelty and her merry gang of werewolves whose favorite pastime is to string up lost vampires and spit Vervain at them.

And shoot them.

Her fingers shake and she wraps them around each other, still watching Jules' back. She can see every detail, count every strand of hair, and when Jules looks back Caroline can outline every premature wrinkle brought on by the stress of transforming. Caroline almost feels her own heart beat, feels the phantom sensation of her pulse racing. Then she hones in on Jules' pulse, on the steady thrumming that echoes like a drum in her tender ears.

_That bitch_, Caroline thinks.

Then she starts following them.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks again for all the lovely reviews! Just to let you know: This chapter gets frisky. Nothing we don't see on the show, but I thought I'd drop a warning (or a teaser) anyway. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 3**

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><p>"<em>Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers,<br>Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters."_

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><p>Tyler taps his foot nervously on the pavement, then reminds himself of a dog and stops. He looks around again, searching for the sheriff car that usually perches in the driveway, motionless and menacing like a shark in open water. It's not there, but that doesn't stop him from reaching up fingers to pluck at his shirt collar. He's faced vampires and werewolves and a whole host of supernatural problems, but Sherriff Forbes still feels like the monster in his closet. That woman is <em>scary<em>.

He confirms that the cruiser isn't there—not even tucked away in the garage—so he walks to the door. His nerves shift and take a different shape, but they still make him sweat as he considers the door handle. Caroline is just as scary as her mother.

He's about to knock when the door jerks open and she's standing there, light pouring out behind her and chasing away the shadows on her front porch.

"What?" she asks. It's short and doesn't give any invitations.

"Where's your mom?" Tyler asks, and then he wants to kick himself. Though it's not a completely worthless question, it's out of nowhere and definitely not what he wanted to say.

"Away for the weekend—why?" Caroline answers, eyeing him with suspicion. He looks at her, his eyes roaming over the hard set of her jaw and the light glinting in her blue eyes like fire under ice.

"I wanted to say I was sorry," he blurts out, which is better but still not really the reason he came over. He wants to prove to her and himself that he can be the one to get her through this. And maybe there's a part of him that really just wants to kiss Caroline the way he did before and see what happens when they don't have an audience to stop them.

Distraction is good, right? It's helpful.

Fine, the truth is, he's been angry and hungry ever since he saw her at The Grill, and maybe it makes him a selfish bastard but he's not leaving until he knows she wants him just as much as he wants her.

"God, do you know what it's like listening to you?" She asks, leaning up against the doorframe and coming just a little bit closer to him. Good thing his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, because otherwise he might have swallowed it. "That's all you ever say to me anymore."

"Because you won't accept them," he says, pushing toward her, and she backs into the house. He takes it as an invitation—even though he kind of knows it wasn't—and follows her in. "Look, I know it was stupid to kiss you there in front of everyone—"

"Then why did you?"

He shrugs, not bothering to open his mouth and answer. He can't explain the impulse to her, the way he _had_ to make some kind of move in that moment, when Caroline was telling him it wouldn't happen and Matt was watching and it felt like she might slip away if he didn't do something to yank her back.

"Is this some stupid wolf thing?" she demands, and he should have known she's way too clever for him.

"Maybe," he says finally. This time his shrug is sheepish. "Or it could just be a me thing."

She huffs an angry sigh. Then she goes completely quiet, not even breathing, and it jolts him when he realizes again that she doesn't have to. She could lie down and be still for a hundred years, and her body could repair itself and get up again.

"You shouldn't have done it," she says finally.

"I know," he says, his voice low and raw in a way that reveals how he aches. "Can I do it again?"

"What?" she asks, her mouth dropped open in shock, which makes it so, so easy for him to step forward and kiss her. She makes a sound of surprise in the back of her throat, but he doesn't let her go, just reaches up and holds her mouth to his.

He feels the moment she comes back to life, and the next second he's fetching up against the opposite wall, landing so hard his body makes a thump that rattles the picture frames on either side of his head. Her hands are at his shoulders, pinning him down, and her eyes are black. Some instinct inside him roars to life, making him angry and a little afraid, but mostly it opens up a kind of bottomless hunger inside of him. He _wants_ her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demands, pulling him forward just to shove him back again. He doesn't answer, just stares at her. She's close, an inch or so from him, and all he can see is her pitch black eyes.

"_Fuck_," she says, which catches him by surprise; he can't remember ever hearing Caroline utter that word before. Then she's kissing him—she makes the choice to kiss him, _finally_—and every thought gets dragged out of his head like oxygen in a vacuum.

She's demanding, rough like he is, her fingers digging into the skin of his shoulders. She sucks his lips into her mouth like she wants to devour him, and his eyes nearly roll back into his head. His limbs feel weak and useless, but he digs his way up from the sensations and gains leverage on her. He flips them, tossing her into the wall and using his body to hold her there. She stays stiff, fights it for a second and then goes pliant, and a roar of victory rolls around in the back of his throat.

He lifts her and she obliges him, her thighs settling at the base of his hips and her ankles locking together behind him. She reaches for his shirt, pulling it up over his head so quickly it almost makes him dizzy. He does the same with her blouse but takes his time, his mouth roving over each inch of skin as he bears it.

Her back is still hard against the wall, and he unwinds her hands from around his neck and flattens them on either side of her head. They pull back and stare at each other, their frantic breaths tangling in the space between them.

"_Mine_," Tyler says, leaning harder into her as he says it, instinct writhing around inside of him like a living beast. His eyes trace over the dark veins traveling across her cheeks, the way her mouth trembles as she fights her fangs, and he leans down to kiss her again.

Then the world tilts and falls, and he's on his back in the center of the room. Caroline straddles him, her deceptively slender arms taking their turn in restraining him.

"No," she says, and he's _never_ heard her voice sound like that before, low and husky in a way that makes him want to jump out of his skin. "_Mine_."

She leans down again, her mouth hot and open. His hands tangle in her hair, fisting and pulling down, but she makes a noise that's somewhere between a moan and a cry and he lets her go.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks, guilt already clawing through him as he runs his fingers over her downturned face. He knows she's strong, but he still shouldn't have been so out of control—what was he _thinking_?

"No," she says, and now he sees what stopped her; razor-sharp fangs glint wetly at him from the corners of her mouth. She won't meet his eyes until he forces her chin up, and he thinks she looks ashamed. Her breath is jagged and cut open, like she's fighting a hard battle and losing it. "I don't want to hurt you," she confesses in a hoarse whisper.

"You won't. I mean, don't suck out all my blood or anything but—_Caroline_," he presses, because he's not entirely sure she's listening to him. He waits until she looks up again. "You're perfect."

She looks calmer now, her face shifting back to normal, and he's glad for the reprieve. He wants her so much it makes him shake, but he doesn't want to take her up against the wall in her living room.

He sits up, gripping her around the waist to pull her with him. Once they're on their feet, he reaches for her hand. "Come on," he says, and starts tugging her up the stairs.

She resists, halting on the first step, and he looks back down at her. He knows she's thinking about it now that they're not so overwhelmed by instinct and desire; she's conscious of what it will mean. He doesn't know what he'll do if she changes her mind and sends him away—macho man or not, he'd probably cry.

Then she catches up to him and leans on her tiptoes to kiss him. He pushes her back into the railing, his fingers ghosting over her until they reach for her hips and pick her up again. She goes with him, and he carries her the rest of the way up the staircase to her room.

* * *

><p>Caroline moves from sleeping to waking in seconds, instantaneous the way a flicked switch fills a room with light. She hates it, this jarring super-awareness the very moment she wakes up. If there's a way to ease into consciousness slowly, Caroline hasn't found it yet.<p>

Her keen senses bombard her with sensory information, so she has no trouble realizing she's not alone. Tyler's deep breaths echo in her ears, and his smell clings to his body and hers—the scent is slick and sweaty, masculine with a touch of the body spray and soap he uses. She breathes deep for a moment, her eyes sliding shut. She wonders how it's possible that he can seduce her in his sleep with just the scent of his skin.

Her eyes edge open and she looks down at him again, staring at his body twisted up in her sheets. One of his legs has escaped and hangs half off the bed, bare. The other is curled at the knee, and he's pointed towards her, his right arm reaching out to tangle around her waist. She realizes she's never seen Tyler asleep before, except when she drove him home after his first transformation and he passed out in an exhausted heap in the backseat.

This is… different. She would even say peaceful. There's a lulling quality to his breathing that almost drowns out the frantic sensations battering into her sleep-logged system. For just a moment, the world doesn't seem so bright and sharp anymore.

She reaches for him, but stops before her hand can meet his shoulder. She's in love with him. As impossible and irresponsible as it sounds, she's sure of it now. And his careless words to Matt still rattle around in her head, proof that he loves her too. But she's still feeling bruised and lost over her encounter with the other werewolves, and the lingering pain cuts her in half. Tyler has the ability to become everything to her, but right now all she can think of is revenge.

She followed Tyler and Jules last night, so she knows where the female werewolf is staying. The place is close, an old bunker on the outskirts of town. Jules took Tyler there to explain how she deals with her transformations, or so Caroline overheard. Caroline interpreted it as a peace offering of sorts. A way to say, _Sorry for torturing your friend/lover/ vampire girlfriend, Tyler, but look, swallowing Wolfsbane really _does_ weaken the beast! _

Caroline also knows that Jules is alone. She's partly disappointed by that—she would really love to get even with the whole pack—but the calculating part of her knows how good this is. Jules, who's wholly responsible for the plan to kidnap Caroline and use her as bait, is in town, alone and weeks away from being any threat to Caroline.

The fact that Tyler went with Jules, that he didn't say anything to Caroline (_not that he ever got the chance…_) and that he's accepting the bitch's help only shoves the wedge in further. Caroline wants to trust him and she does to a degree, but she can't trust him to take her side in this.

She reaches for him again, her fingers ghosting over his jaw and along the edge of his lips. She doesn't know how she never saw it before, how perfect he is. Did his transformation enhance him, or would she have realized it either way? If Caroline was never a vampire and Tyler was never a werewolf, would they have eventually stopped chasing after mutual friends and started looking towards each other?

He shifts, his hand reaching, searching for her. She pulls back and moves away, slipping silently from bed. She stays still and watches him for a moment as he kicks his feet restlessly. Then he settles and turns his face back into the pillow, and she grabs her clothes and slips out of the room.

Her chest feels heavy but she shoves it back. She keeps pushing until all the bottled emotion, all the fury and fear fade to the background, like white noise on a broken television set. She grinds her teeth together, and now she's just thinking of the other werewolves, the ones who chained her up and made her feel so helpless and small.

The last of her trepidation slips from her fingers like water, and when she gets to the front door she's all cool determination. She said what Jules and the others did to her would never happen again, and she means to keep that promise. It _won't_ happen again.

Not to her, anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks again for all your kind words! Sorry for the delay—moving to a new apartment is _rough_.

**Chapter 4**

* * *

><p><em>"Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack,<br>My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out__."_

* * *

><p>Tyler doesn't wake up easily. His limbs are heavy and dense, and his head feels like it's buried under pounds of sand. Sleep glues his eyes together and he rubs them wearily, trying to get some sense of awareness as he pries open his lids. Everything is foreign and unfamiliar for a moment, and then he remembers.<p>

Caroline's bedroom. All the sensations come rushing back, and he nearly groans again. He closes his eyes and sees her there, around him, above him, and it's so perfect he wants to slide back into sleep and relive it again.

Then he realizes she's gone. Her side of the bed is cold and unwelcoming under his hand, and his nose doesn't pick up the scent of her—something he didn't even realize he memorized until he noticed its absence.

He sits up, looking around. He takes the time to inspect the details of her room, grinning a little at the goofy portrait of a 6 year-old Caroline on her nightstand. Her room is softer than he would have expected, too girly for a vampire chick with superpowers. Although, when she's just Caroline and not Caroline the vampire, she's all round, sweet edges so maybe this makes sense.

He runs a hand through his hair and struggles out of bed, pulling on his boxers. The shrill pitch of the doorbell cracks through the house and Tyler nearly jumps out of his skin. Just as he decides to ignore it, the doorbell rings again, knocking around in his ears.

He walks down the hall cautiously, convinced it's Caroline's mom—until he remembers that the Sheriff has a key and wouldn't need to ring the bell of her own home. He peeks out the upstairs window and is further relieved; the cruiser is definitely not parked in the driveway. He can't see who _is_, though, so they must have parked out on the street.

He gets to the door and peers out the curtains—and is so relieved to see Elena on the doorstep that he doesn't hesitate in opening the door.

"Hey, I just wanted—_oh_." Elena's mouth falls open into a perfect little 'o' of surprise, and Tyler realizes this wasn't the smartest move he's ever made. The tiny brunette stares at him like she's praying she got the wrong house. He even thinks he sees her lean back to check, but it's definitely the Forbes residence. And Tyler is definitely standing half-naked in the doorway.

"I—I—" Elena starts, floundering hopelessly. He smiles and takes pity on her, nodding for her to come inside.

"Caroline isn't here," he says as she scurries in the house.

"Oh, okay. I just wanted to check because—" she stops and levels him with a fierce look that he wouldn't expect from her. "Tyler, _what_ are you doing here?"

He opens his mouth, closes it again and shrugs—because really, he's doing exactly what he looks like he's been doing.

"It's a little early in the month to be transforming," Elena continues pointedly, and he realizes she's not letting him slide free of this. He should have remembered she's tougher than she looks.

"I was—we were—" He stops, reaches up to scratch the back of his head. He can't think of a way to make this less awkward. "Jesus, Elena. What do you think we were doing?"

It only takes her a moment, and then she gasps," "You—you and _Caroline_?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he grouses, his eyes narrowing at her.

"But when did—I mean, how did—she was just helping you transform!" Elena says, and the shock is definitely getting insulting now. Her hands flutter helplessly around her face. "I thought she was just helping you transform?"

"Look, it's not—it's kind of new for us too, alright?" Tyler says, irritation pulling at the corners of his mouth. He has no idea what's going on between him and Caroline, and he hoped he would have a lot more time before he had to explain it to anyone.

Elena goes very still then, her face so calm it's almost scary. She must be picking up tips from Damon and Stefan, because she looks every bit the cool, undead vampire. "Tyler," Elena says, and her voice is clear, enunciated. "Caroline's going through a really hard time right now. Like, _really_ hard. And the last thing she needs is someone to come in and mess things up even more."

He stares at the tiny brunette, the familiar frustrated itch starting in his palms. Why is everyone so damned sure he's trying to break Caroline's heart? "Look, Elena, I can see you mean well, but you have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"I saw the way you were with Vicky—"

"What is it with _Vicky_?" Tyler demands, his control snapping a little, just for a second. "Look, I'm not saying I wasn't a dick, but that girl was _messed up, _and I honestly didn't know what the hell to do with her. And anyway, one has nothing to do with the other. Caroline is different."

"She's different," Elena repeats, sounding a little disbelieving. Funny, she can believe in vampires and werewolves and witches, but believing that Tyler has a living, beating heart is just a little too much for her.

"You have no idea what it was like," Tyler says, his eyes fierce. "You have this whole underground support system going on, but I was weeks away from turning and I had _no one_. And then—I don't even know how it happened, but there was Caroline. She stuck her neck out for me more than anyone I've ever known."

"Tyler—"

"And while you were all running around trying to keep _your_ secrets, Caroline was the only one helping me with _mine_," Tyler finishes, talking over her. "So if I hear one more goddamned warning about how I'm some douche she needs protecting from, I swear—"

"Who else is saying it?" Elena interrupts. Tyler just stares at her, eyebrows still pulled low over angry eyes. "Look, I get it, Tyler. I didn't realize you and Caroline had gotten so close, so I'm sorry. But who else knows about this?"

He drags his tongue along the edges of his teeth, loathe to say the name out loud and draw attention to him yet again. "Matt."

Elena's face falls, and Tyler feels his hackles rise. "Oh…"

"It's not like they can be together," Tyler defends, raising a hand and waving the option away. "She can't be honest with him, and being with her just puts him in danger."

"I know, but—these things can get complicated, Tyler."

"You would know."

Tyler can see the way her facial muscles tense, and he knows he's got her—which means his hunch is correct. He might not know the details about Damon, Stefan and Elena, but he knows two brothers should never look at the same woman the same way.

"Is she okay, Tyler?" Elena asks finally, and he lets the other subject slip away, because ultimately he wants to know the same thing as her.

"I don't know," he says, but he hesitates, because his answer is to vague to really be the truth. She must catch the indecision in his gaze.

"She told you something," Elena says, her eyes going wide like a hound that's just scented the fox. "What? What is it?"

He vacillates, caught between wanting to tell her and wanting to keep Caroline's confidence. "I…"

"_Tyler_."

"She's been forgetting things," he admits, trying to smooth away his guilt. He wants to _help_ Caroline, after all. Who better to enlist than her best friend? "Her memory has gaps now. Ever since she—ever since she was shot."

"Oh, no," Elena breathes, her eyes going misty and sad.

"Do you think there's anything we can do?"

"I don't know," Elena admits, meeting his gaze. He hopes she believes him now, really believes that Caroline means a lot more to him than some random fuck. "I can try to find out. But Tyler?"

"Yeah?"

"Where exactly _is_ Caroline?"

* * *

><p>Caroline's eyes adjust easily to the dark of the bunker. Her lips curl at the smell, stale and slightly stagnant like there's water trapped somewhere, but she presses further down the steps. The bunker is set deep into the ground like a cellar, its only opening the nearly horizontal door that Jules left camouflaged but not completely closed—probably for the airflow. The overall look is heavy and burdened, and makes Caroline feel like a body inside a coffin.<p>

She has trouble believing Jules would choose such a place unless the werewolf was afraid. The thought gratifies Caroline and sends a peculiar flair of strength through her, like knowing her enemy's already frightened gives Caroline even more of an advantage. Not that she needs to sway the tides in her favor; Jules is weeks away from being at her strongest, and the only benefit she has over other humans is that she can't die by natural means. And that doesn't bother Caroline at all.

Caroline is careful not to make a sound as she steps over decaying planks of wood and what might have once been furniture. Her feet move seamlessly, never getting held up on all the jagged edges and torn seams that litter the ground under her feet. Her pack of supplies is heavy across her shoulder blades, carrying everything she'll need—Wolfsbane, a gun with assorted wooden, silver and regular bullets, a butcher's knife she stole from her kitchen counter and a few other odds and ends she thought would make for poetic justice.

There's a distant part of her screaming to stop this, but that Caroline's voice is so faded and hollow it's like she's drowning at the bottom of the ocean. That voice is telling her she isn't the type of person to do this—and she _knows_ she's not—but there's a strange sense of numbness that's been spreading through her since this morning. She's not even upset anymore, or angry—she just knows what she has to do. And the girl in her, the human under the waves, keeps shouting that this can't be right, that she's done something very, _very_ wrong, but Caroline can't seem to care.

She's a creature of the night. A perfect being worthy of adoration, of being worshipped—of being feared. How _dare_ these mongrels try to paint her as something less, something beneath them?

She finds Jules finally, after stepping through another doorway. This room is completely pitch black, the sparse light from the opening choking to nothing here, and the only illumination is a small, dusty flashlight. Caroline can see anyway, and if she couldn't she could hear Jules on the bare mattress in the corner, breathing deeply enough to be sleeping.

_Perfect_, Caroline thinks.

She walks to the edge of the mattress, which is clean and must have been carted in when Jules decided to stay here. Slowly, she lifts her foot and prods it into Jules' side. The werewolf twists and moans, dragging up from unconsciousness like an anchor being raised. Jules' eyes are cloudy with sleep, and she blinks slowly in the near darkness.

Caroline sees the moment sleepy unawareness turns to panic. Jules jolts, not so much moving in one direction or the other as bouncing on spot, the kind of useless move teenagers make in scary movies right before they die. Caroline reaches down and grips Jules around the forearm with one hand, yanking the beast to her feet.

"Remember me?" she asks, her voice raising up at the end like it's actually a question and not just a phrase meant to mock. Jules is shaking now; Caroline can feel the vibrations under her fingers. "I'll take that as a yes."

Caroline throws the beast down, missing the mattress so that Jules' face lands on the filthy floor. "Oh, come on," Caroline says, placing her foot in the center of Jules' back and holding her down. "I was hoping for more of a struggle than this!"

Finally Jules fights back, shaking out from under Caroline's hold and leaping for the door. It's an impressive move, a little too long and smooth to be human, but Caroline slides forward and catches her. She grabs the werewolf by the hair and tilts her head backwards, baring her throat.

"What do you want?" Jules asks, her voice hoarse and raw like she hasn't spoken in weeks.

"That's easy," Caroline says. She drags Jules to the manacles at the corner of the room, the ones Jules drilled into the wall for her transformations. It's amazing how people will dig their own graves if you just hand them the shovel. "I want revenge. On your whole wolf pack, but since they're not here…. I'll have to make do with you."

Jules claws at Caroline's face, and the move is so unexpected that if catches the vampire by surprise. Jules earns just a little time and almost makes it to the arch of the doorway. Almost.

"Ouch," Caroline says, wiping the blood from her face. Then she raises her fingers to her face and licks them clean. Once she's done, she grabs Jules by the arm and takes her back to the manacles. It's so, so easy to lock the werewolf in, and then Caroline knows she's already won.

"I'm just here to help Tyler," Jules gasps, her eyes wide and dilated in the black room. "I just want to help him the way Mason meant to."

Caroline halts, her hands clenching convulsively into fists. Flashes of Tyler, of their night together sway in front of her eyes, and she almost stops. Then she reaches into her bag and pulls out the Wolfsbane. Jules' breathing goes heavy, and Caroline wonders if werewolves can see in the dark after all.

"Tyler will hate you for this," Jules warns, but this time his name doesn't ignite any reaction in Caroline.

"I'm guessing this is a lot like Vervaine to you," Caroline says instead, dragging the herb down Jules' face. The werewolf screams as her skin bubbles and smokes—the perfect reaction. Caroline smiles. "Which is why I loaded it into these."

She pulls out a set of plastic water guns and presses one of the triggers experimentally. More ravaged sounds escape from Jules as the diluted Wolfsbane burns through her skin, making pock marks and lesions everywhere it touches.

"Please," Jules begs, her voice echoing her agony.

Caroline shrugs. "Payback's a bitch."

Then the vampire pulls the trigger of her little toy gun again.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Dun, dun, dunnnn. If you want to imagine something funny, picture Matt on the doorstep of the Forbes residence instead of Elena. I was originally going to do that, but then I saw an interview with Michael Trevino talking about how, after 2 seasons, he and Nina Dorbrev finally have a one-on-one scene together in Season 3. I really wanted to try that, but still, Matt would have been hilarious. _


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Sorry for the lateness of this update! Back at school and things are absolutely crazy. Only one more chapter after this, and you can expect it within the next week sometime. Enjoy!_

**Chapter 5**

* * *

><p><em>Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins,<em>  
><em>I want to find you, tear out all of your tenderness,<em>  
><em>And howl."<em>

* * *

><p>Tyler pauses in his talk with Elena to put on some clothes. Modest though he isn't, standing in his boxers in the middle of the Forbes living room with Elena Gilbert is a bit much even for his uninhibited personality. He slides on his shirt and jeans from last night, pausing again to look around Caroline's room. It still surprises him how light it is, like the inside of a birthday cake. Seeing this room, proof of the human side of Caroline, it's hard to believe she could be anything else.<p>

Fully dressed now, Tyler makes his way back down the stairs to where Elena is perched on the arm of the sofa. There's open relief on her face at his clothed form, and he reminds himself never to let her help him with his transformations. If she found _this_ awkward….

"So," Tyler says, because Elena is still staring at his lower half like it might suddenly reveal itself to her again. They've never really been close, despite growing up together; come to think of it, Tyler can't say he's really close to anyone in their group of friends. He always drifted on the outskirts, playing with the girls and sticking by Matt because Matt was the only one who really put up with him.

And now he has Caroline. _Just_ Caroline.

"You're worried about her," Tyler says when it's clear Elena isn't going to speak.

"Aren't you?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest and meeting his gaze.

"Of course," he says, a little carelessly as he runs his fingers through his hair. "But I don't know where she is. I just woke up and she was… gone."

Elena looks a little embarrassed, but mostly concerned. "There wasn't a note or anything? I mean, I have a hard time believing Caroline would just leave with—you know."

"Some guy in her bed?" Tyler finishes.

"Yes," Elena answers. "Especially when it's you."

"What's that mean?" he asks, indignation in his voice.

"Sorry, but you know it's true," Elena answers, and Tyler shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. Fine, he can admit it: out of all the guys Sheriff Forbes would hate to see naked in her daughter's bedroom, Tyler probably tops the list. "Her mom's not supposed to be home until tomorrow, but still."

Tyler finds it amazing that all of them—himself included—are so concerned with keeping up appearances for their parents. Considering that Caroline could be sucking half the town dry of blood and bouncing to school the next day, Tyler finds it a little less important that she's having sex with him.

Of course, the Lockwoods and the Forbes have never gotten along, the mayor's family and the sheriff's always at war for authority over Mystic Falls. And Tyler was constantly the wayward wild child Sheriff Forbes brought home in the middle of the night, wasted or high or his knuckles bloody from a fight. Add to it that Caroline's a vampire and Tyler's a werewolf—each the other's natural enemy—and he can see how the odds have stacked against them.

"But it's not like she'll do anything drastic, right?" Tyler asks, and he hates that there's something like a plea in his voice. "She's freaked, but she's still Caroline. She's got a level head."

Elena hesitates, opens her mouth but doesn't let the words past her tongue. Finally she shakes her head. "Being a vampire is… it makes her different, Tyler."

Tyler's a little annoyed that Elena is acting like she understands Caroline better than him. Sure, Elena is much more familiar with vampires, being that she's dating one and not really (but sort of) dating another, but Tyler _knows_ Caroline. "Yeah, I get that," Tyler retorts.

"Do you?" Elena asks, and the anger is swift and fierce in of him. It scratches at his skin from the inside, and he has to force himself to take a breath and calm down. She's being frustrating, but he has no reason to be furious with her.

"Look, I don't care what vampire shit is going on," Tyler says. "She's controlling, bitchy and half insane, but she's _Caroline_. She doesn't back down from anything."

"That's what I'm worried about," Elena says, and Tyler wishes she would _stop being worried_. Her concern is exacerbating his, threatening to turn it into all-out panic. "Their emotions are heightened, Tyler—that's just how they are. If it gets too hard for her, she might think turning them off is better."

"Turning them off?" Tyler repeats, and the words make him feel sick as they leave his mouth. He knows something about intense emotions; he's got them himself. He didn't know she had a magic switch she could flip to shut them down.

"I've seen it," Elena says, her eyes going hazy and deep and her mouth turning down in a sad little half circle. He wonders which brother she's thinking about now—which comes to mind when she thinks of vampires losing their humanity. He's inclined to think Damon, but something tells him not to rule out Stefan entirely. "It's like they're different people."

The panic that was drifting at the back of his consciousness tunnels its way to the forefront, and suddenly he's breathing hard and his heartbeat is thumping out of control. He thought he knew Caroline front and back (he tries not to let his mind go anyplace tawdry at a time like this, _but damn_), only now he's starting to realize there might be more to her vampire nature than she let on.

"What do you think she'll do?" he asks, and Elena looks a little wary at the way his voice edges past the point of control.

Elena shrugs her shoulders, looking small and helpless in the wake of his question. "I don't know. It's not like there's anything she _can_ do. The werewolves are gone and—"

Elena stops with a gasp when Tyler puts his fist through the wall. Plaster and drywall scatter around his feet as he pulls his hand back out, but he ignores the hole and his cracked-open skin. Elena's shocked reproof dies on her tongue when he says, "Not all the werewolves are gone."

* * *

><p>Jules is passed out.<p>

Caroline didn't expect that to happen, assumed being a werewolf gave Jules a high pain tolerance in addition to temporary fangs and fur. But the werewolf is slumped forward in her chains, bloody head bowed and bruises wrists dangling from the manacles. The slash marks on her arms are already starting to heal, and the Wolfsbane burns have faded on her face, like echoes of some long distant injury rather than one that took place an hour ago.

Caroline knows what she has to do now. Taking the brief respite, ears still perked to pick up Jules' labored breathing, Caroline reaches for her bag and pulls out the pistol. Her hands—which have been so steady the whole time—start to shake around the cold metal. She wishes she had body heat to warm it, but she knows the bullet will do a good job of that as it propels from the barrel. She stares down at the weapon, and disgust eases up from her stomach to her throat.

She's used to guns. She's used to seeing the weapon strapped on her mother's waist like it's an accessory, just a big belt buckle or a bulky beaded bracelet. It was always there—though never within reach—and as a result, Caroline never put much thought into it. She never considered the dense weight of them, the way they're designed to rip through flesh and bone—a little like her fangs in that respect. She never considered that people carried them, pointed them, used them and killed people with them.

Or in her case, that people tortured and stole precious things with them.

_Humans_, Caroline thinks, and it's one of the few times she's detached herself from them, considered herself something separate._ They're so terrified of us and so convinced we need to die, and then they make things like this._

She shakes her head, her thoughts flooding her brain like water and making it feel soggy and thick. She has to finish this, and getting caught up in what _this_ means won't help. She walks back to Jules, the pistol in hand. She put regular bullets in, because steal trumped out over wood in her thirst for apt revenge. Jules is finally stirring again, moaning as she pulls at her wrists and grinds her chains into the wall.

Then Jules looks up, and her expression is conquered. Caroline is surprise by it; nearly falls back a step as Jules looks out at her through twin pits of defeat.

"I just didn't want to be alone," Jules says, quiet and sad. "Everything I did, I did to try and build a family."

"Tyler's not your family," Caroline says, and her voice is jagged like a broken bottle. "He's nothing to you. If you _ever_ go near him again—"

"You act like I'm stealing something from you," Jules says, and her voice hardens under the grit stuck to her vocal chords. "He's not _yours_, bloodsucker. He'll never be yours, no matter what you do to me."

"No," Caroline says, and now she raises the gun. Jules' eyes widen and a whimper slips out past her teeth. "This has nothing to do with Tyler. _Tyler_ isn't what you stole from me."

Caroline's hand caresses the trigger. It's aimed right at Jules' head, her gaze focused on the stretch of skin between the werewolf's eyes.

"Then do it," Jules says, and she doesn't look afraid anymore. She just looks resigned, like maybe there's a part of her that knows she deserves this. Maybe there's a part of her that regrets.

Caroline's own heart can't beat, but she lets Jules' fill her ears. Jules' heart is frantic, desperate to avoid the fate that Jules herself won't fight. The pounding echoes in Caroline's brain, the sound of fear and panic, and she feels the phantom sensation of her own heart panicking. She focuses harder, and her finger tightens a fraction on the trigger.

"Caroline!"

The voice echoes down from the earth's surface, pitching deep into Caroline's brain as rapid footsteps echo around the bunker. One more second and then Tyler's there at the door, blinking hard in the darkness to try and bring the pair of them into focus. She knows the second he can make out what he's seeing; his back goes rigid and his jaw clenches, his teeth grinding together so hard Caroline can hear them.

"Stop," he says, walking toward them. He's clumsy, tripping and sliding on the debris littering the ground, but his determination makes up for his lack of grace. "Caroline, stop this."

She keeps her arm outstretched, keeps the gun pointed at the space between Jules' eyes. She doesn't breathe, doesn't speak, just stares down at the werewolf.

"Caroline…" Tyler says, and then his hand settles on her shoulder and she nearly flies out of her skin.

"Don't touch me!" she shouts, her throat rending open at the viciousness of her cry.

"This isn't you," he says, but his voice is faint like he's unsure—like he wants her to reassure him that he's right.

Her arm starts to quiver now, the shakes beginning at her shoulder and reverberating all the way down to her fingers. She doesn't remove her index finger from the trigger. "You don't know who I am," she answers, her voice quiet and steady to contrast with her shaky body. "You have no idea."

He moves quickly then—more quickly than should have been possible. He grabs her wrist and yanks it towards him, pulling the gun and Caroline's body in his direction instead of Jules'. The gun settles over his heart, and the shock of the move makes Caroline let go of the trigger—but not the gun.

"Shoot me," he says, and she shakes her head. "I mean it. If you have to do this, then do it to me. I'm the one who got you into that mess—and I'm the one who didn't get you out of it. Everything that happened to you is my fault."

She opens her mouth and closes it, but she can't find anything to say. She feels like there's a war waging inside of her between who she was before and who she could be now, and she's not sure which will win. She doesn't know who she _wants_ to be.

"Caroline," Tyler says again, and he pulls her wrist to lift the weapon higher, settling the barrell against his temple. "If this is what you have to do to feel better, then do it. Just do it to the person who deserves it."

_Shoot them both. Shoot Jules. Don't hurt Tyler. Tyler betrayed you anyway—what do you care? They deserve it. He doesn't deserve it. Neither does she. Of course she does. Werewolves are just beasts anyway. They can both kill you. Tyler would never. He doesn't have a choice. You know what they are. You know what _you_ are._

_You know what you're not. _

The voices break like waves crashing, and the roar takes over her ears. The gun slips from her hand and she cries—cries for what she's done, what she is, what's she's become and what she can't be. Tyler catches her before she goes to her knees, and her sobs are harsh and fast into his shoulder.

She doesn't remember much after that. She doesn't remember Tyler hooking a hand under her knees and pulling her up to his chest. She doesn't remember Elena whisking past them to free Jules; doesn't remember Tyler ordering Jules to take off and never contact him again. She doesn't remember the consequences he lists if Jules' doesn't obey.

They explain all of this to her later, but she's so overcome that it takes her weeks to really understand the full extent of what occurred in that bunker.

She just knows that Tyler hauls her up from beneath the ground like she doesn't weigh a thing. She knows he bundles her into his car and drives her back home, and he doesn't let her go once the whole trip. And she knows he leans over and whispers "I love you" into her hair before she slips into sleep.


End file.
